Helping Hand
by Actual Princess Ray
Summary: Short collection of Phoenix-centered drabbles involving someone getting hurt. Originally posted on tumblr; based on single-line prompts. Originally posted on an rp account.
1. Apollo

starting sentence: ' I cant... c-can't breathe. '

Apollo is injured — Phoenix tries to help.

* * *

><p><strong>" <strong>Apollo? **" **

The voice is weak, but it's clear, and Nick's heart just about shatters along with the rest of his body. **_' _****_I can't… c-can't breathe — '_ **

Damn, _everything_ hurt Phoenix. Every bone in his body hurt, and he was sure there was more than one wound of his bleeding, but he had to keep a clear head, and he couldn't let Apollo suffer because _he_ was too preoccupied with his own wounds.

The explosion hit hard, and Phoenix wasn't sure what it was that was breaking Apollo's voice — the fire was raging, and the smoke was thick. Phoenix found _himself_ coughing, forcing his arms to support the weight of his upper body and he lifted himself up, inch by inch.

It only got harder for Phoenix, the closer he got to sitting up properly. Himself, he was struck by a few chunks of concrete, but he was going to live.

_**( **Where the hell is he **? )**_

The moment he saw the shock of red, he'd forced his body to heave itself over to the still lawyer. His chest was moving, albeit slowly, and Phoenix let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, collapsing to his knees, with a small cry of pain, at Apollo's side.

A brief look at the lawyer, at his state, and Phoenix's heart just about fell to the bottom of his stomach yet again.

_**Fuck,** _Phoenix didn't know what to do with so much ** d.** He could see one serious wound on the younger male's side, and even with the red vest, he could clearly see the blood pouring out from it. He wasn't trained for this — he was a lawyer, he was only used to handling the _autopsies' descriptions of wounds_, not the actual flesh and blood — pun unintentional — itself. But this was **Apollo,** and he had one _hell_ of a wound, and, as an incredibly quick scan over him, Phoenix could tell he had quite a few others.

_**( **What do I do, what do I do, what do I do** ? )** _

This was no time for Phoenix to sit around and do **nothing**. He needed to act and fast. His jacket was immediately torn off, as he roughly scrunched it together, pressing the wadded up fabric, _hard, _against the wound. Apply pressure, right _**?**_Isn't that what he was supposed to do _**?**_

Bright blue eyes, shiny and wet with the pricking of tears stared desperately into pained brown ones, lingering only for a few seconds before Phoenix snapped his head up, screaming for help, for anyone to help — he screamed at the top of his lungs, a volume to give Apollo's **'** chords of steel **' **a run for their money.

Finally — _finally_, he'd heard something akin to a confirmation, another voice, someone who Phoenix hoped to _God_ was going to help them, and looked back to Apollo, to see him simply blink and grimace in pain back at him. He looked as if he'd made to speak, but no noise could come out.

This couldn't be the way it would happen, this wasn't how Apollo was supposed to go —_God,_ the kid was only **23.** He was a _kid._ He had so much left to live for; he needed to keep breathing. The world wasn't done with Apollo Justice. Not yet.

He gripped Apollo's right hand, with an especially tight squeeze to let him know that there was someone there with him, that he was going to be okay, that he **better** be okay._  
><em>

_**"** It's okay, Apollo. I'm here. _

_** " **You're not alone.**"**_


	2. Good Samaritan

starting line — ' don't move, you'll just make it worse '  
>In which Phoenix cannot, for the life of him, remember why he's in so much pain, and the stranger who tried to offer words of aid.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>"<strong> It's nothing, **"** he forces himself to say, offering the stranger a weak smile.

Phoenix likes to think he's been through worse — being tased by von Karma, the blow to the head by way of fire extinguisher, running across the burning bridge ( and proceeding to fall into the river below as it collapsed ), the hit and run, just about everything. A little blood never hurt him, right _**?** _

_**(** I'm fine**…** I've had worse things happen to me. **)**_

He feels weaker than usual, and this time, however, Phoenix might just have to admit that _maybe_, just **maybe**, thi the worst. Primarily due to two factors.

**1. )** He's never been in this much pain in his life.

There's a distinct _ache_ in his right leg, and honestly, he's starting to think that the word **'** ache **' **is a bit of an _under_-exaggeration. He's restraining himself from saying anything far too vulgar out loud, but it's obvious from the twist of his lips — into an ugly, upset frown, teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard he's shocked he hasn't drawn blood yet.

He hasn't done much but allow his face to contort into a hurt expression, eyes scrunched and pained frown, clench his fist, and let out one brief hiss of _pain_ the moment he'd tried to move.

**2. )** He has _no _idea what just happened.

Call it a memory lapse, call it amnesia, hell, call it _trauma_, if you're willing to employ such hyperboles.

Phoenix's recollection of the past five or ten minutes just simply doesn't exist. The more he tries to think of it, the more his head begins to throb, and he worse he'd find his current state. It's all radio static at this point, and on _one hand_ he's starting to think that was for the better, but on the other hand, the lack of memory, or _memories,_ for that matter, frightens him. He's not quite sure just _how serious_ his injuries are, just how much trouble he'd managed to get himself in once again.

It's barely a moment after he forces a weak smile to the stranger that he freezes, with pure fear, and nothing but concern, looking up at him — and making damn sure he keeps his attention off the _mess_ that has got to be his **leg** — ocean blues wide and eyebrows knitted with pure concern, speaking with a shaky voice.

_**( **Shit. **)**_

**"** Is Trucy okay _**? **_**" **The memory lapse had made him unsure if he was the only one injured or if there were any other injured parties. When he didn't immediately receive an answer, he pressed again, voice firmer, and more demanding:

**"** _Forget_ about me. Go help my daughter. **"**

* * *

><p>trivia!: the guy who wanted to help nick was none other than Norman Jayden, from Heavy Rain!<p> 


End file.
